


this i swear

by yesterdaychild



Series: Happy Eruri Week! [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Death, I'm Sorry, M/M, bad rhymes, no it's not very happy at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterdaychild/pseuds/yesterdaychild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They counted their commitments in promises, and swore their oaths with blood.</p><p>Written for Day Two of Eruri Week. Prompt: Blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this i swear

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr: http://erwindanchou.tumblr.com/post/70747318008/eruri-week-day-two-this-i-swear

They counted their commitments in promises.

Erwin’s first promise: to spare Levi and his friends from the military police, if Levi agreed to join the Survey Corps.

Levi’s first promise: a spat out agreement to join the Survey Corps, followed by an oath to kill Erwin when it was all over.

"If the Titans don’t get to me first," Erwin promised.

 

Years later, they committed to each other.

"I’ll protect you with my life," Levi promised.

"Don’t be stupid," Erwin remarked. "You’re humanity’s strongest soldier. Promise me that no matter what, you’ll always save yourself first."

They made pacts of after-death care. Promises to deliver cloaks to family members, dispense last rites, never to weep. Agreements to never show that they were mourning for each other. And above all, to live on.

 

Simple promises: Ride by my side. I’ll make sure you always do. Nobody will threaten you while I live.

Stupid promises: Love me forever. Make sure you come back to kiss me. Never let me go.

 

As it turned out, neither gold nor silver were strong enough for such promises as these. Only blood could bear the weight of such vows.

They met at midnight, cut their left palms, and pressed them together; kissed, let their blood mingle as one. Brothers, lovers, enemies, friends - what they were didn’t matter; what was normal, when they lived under such abnormal circumstances? They let themselves, dripping blood into a patch of soil. Within, they’d planted the seeds of thyme: an herb that rhymed with a word they didn’t have enough of. It flourished under their care.

When they made love, they let the scars on their palms kiss, clenching their hands together as they rode into neverending pleasure, an unspoken renewal of promises.

 

When they died, it was with little fanfare. They were found after the Battle of Stohess had cleared, lying under a collapsed building, their fingers interlaced like the insignia on their backs. Their blood intermingled in the dust, staining their cloaks through, obscuring what they had dedicated their lives to, and lost their lives for.

And in the end a blood-soaked bolo tie and cravat were laid under a patch of thyme, to rest for all eternity.


End file.
